Making Mattie Cry
by Mandolin77
Summary: God? It's about my brother. He's — we're actually twins, and I guess I always thought we would get along really well because we're twins, you know? But it's just that I say stuff or I ignore him and it makes him cry and I hate it when he cries. So, um, could you maybe make me just a little bit nicer? Thanks, and, um, Amen.


Alfred hates himself sometimes.

He hates it when he's mean. He hates it when he makes Mattie cry. He hates it when Arthur has to get mad at him and send him to bed without supper, and he hates that getting sent to bed without supper just makes him more mean. He doesn't know why he says the things he does, or why he teases Matt so much, or why he can't use his napkin and clean his room and brush his hair down like Arthur tells him to.

He has always loved his brother, ever since he realized he had one. When he was tiny, Alfred would go the window at night and kiss the glass and whisper, "Good night, Matthew. _Bonne nuit_." He wanted to be sure that his twin would get the message all the way over at Francis' house, no matter which language he understood.

But now, living so close together that they share the same bed, Alfred is starting to realize there is jealousy in him, too, right alongside the affection. There are days when he wonders if Matt really is perfect, after all, because he's good at cursive and math and marbles and singing and all the other things Alfred just can't figure out how to do. He is small still like a child instead of awkward and gangly the way his brother is, and even though they look alike everyone always comments on how _angelic_ Matthew looks with his violet eyes and curly-blonde hair… and Alfred hates that, too.

The biggest problem is that he can't even hate Matt because there is nothing to hate him for. The little Canadian is gentle and soft-spoken—he tamed a freaking _polar bear_, for pity's sake—and he helps cover up for all of his brother's mistakes even when that means he is the one getting yelled at instead. One more than one occasion he has offered to do Alfred's chores for him so he could have a day off, and what does Alfred do to repay him? He goes around pretending like Matt doesn't exist until the younger boy breaks down in tears.

When that happens Al never knows what to do, how to apologize, how to breach that void of accusations that's suddenly between them. When he tries to be nice Matt just glares at him and walks away, and that rejection hurts more than Alfred wants to admit so he goes back to being cruel again because things are easier that way.

His stomach growls restlessly and he curls up in a ball on the bed, sniffling. He won't admit he's been crying, mostly because it's stupid to cry without knowing why you're doing it. If there's a good reason it's okay—he still gets a little moist-eyed sometimes when Arthur spanks him, and nobody could blame him for that. But right now he knows these tears aren't because he's hungry and they aren't because he's cold, even though he is definitely both of those and plenty more. He can smell the smoke of Arthur's cooking from all the way up here.

Why can't he just be like Mattie? Why can't he just be good and patient and unhateable the way his little brother is?

Alfred doesn't pray very often; he's not totally sure he agrees with the Good Lord Arthur says will answer all their prayers. But he needs help and there is no one else to help him so he puts his hands together like a miniature temple and says, "God? Are you listening?"

There is silence.

"Can you help me?"

It's so quiet that he can hear the soft sounds of the nighttime moving around the house, but he feels stupid stopping now so he keeps going. "I'm sorry to bother you, it's just—I dunno what to do, and Arthur says that if you ask for something real nice you'll usually get it. And, um, I thought you'd be a pretty good person to ask, so… if you're not busy or anything, can I talk to you?"

He doesn't know why he keeps asking questions; the sky isn't going to answer him, and if it did he was pretty sure he has bigger problems than making Mattie cry. The thought of his little brother reminds him why he's doing this, though, and he dutifully slides down onto his knees beside the bed the way he'd been taught when he was little.

"It's about my brother. He's— we're actually twins, but sometimes you can't tell it because we dress different, and… yeah. We never got to be together when we were kids. He used to live with my Uncle Francis, who isn't actually my uncle but we call him that because just _Francis_ sounds weird, and so I was really, really glad when he came to live with us. I mean, it's not like Francis hurts him or anything, I was just lonely being the only kid here, and I love Arthur—he's kinda like my pa, I guess you could say I was adopted—but, you know, Arthur is old-fashioned and he just doesn't _get_ what it means to be a kid. I'm pretty sure he never was one.

"I'm not… I guess I always thought that Mattie and I would get along really well because we're twins, you know? And twins are supposed to have this special bond or whatever. But sometimes I mess up and I say things and he starts crying, and… I don't ever mean to make him cry but I do, and I never know how to fix it. It's just that sometimes I'm kind of an idiot, and I say stuff without thinking about how he might feel about it. Or I get upset and ignore him, and it makes him upset and I _hate _it when he's upset. I mean, I would give anything to make him happy. _Anything_. And usually when he's not happy it's because I did something mean.

"So, um, in conclusion, could you maybe make me a little bit nicer? I'm sure Mattie would appreciate it, and I know I really would, too. I want to make him happy, especially since it's been so hard for him to be away from his papa and speak English all the time, and… it's good to know that I made him smile. So, yeah. Amen."

He feels silly, just talking to the darkness, and as far as he can tell nothing has changed: his insides felt just as mean as before. Just as he is about to get up and crawl back into bed, the door to his room opens slowly and a sliver of light slips in. "Al?"

Alfred looks up, and then scrambles to his feet when he sees his brother standing in the hallway, pudgy face lit up by the gas lamp he carries in one hand.

"Did you mean all that?"

"What?"

"The stuff you just said," he answers, closing the door. "Did you mean that?"

Alfred blushes, and tilts his head forward until his hair covers his eyes. "Arthur says prayers are special, and you're not supposed to listen in when somebody says them."

"I know." Matt blushes a little, too, and then says defensively, "But I didn't mean to listen, I just heard you talking and I didn't know who you were talking to. It's not my fault you were saying your prayers."

Alfred sighs dramatically and says, "Well, I guess it's okay." Mattie smiles.

"_Merci_. I promise I won't listen to you anymore."

"Shouldn't you be asleep already?"

"Yeah." He smiles again, shyly, and holds up a tiny package. "I felt bad that you didn't get supper, so I saved some of mine and put it in my napkin."

Alfred rushes over and grabs the napkin, unwrapping it by the faint light of the lamp. "Oh, _oh, _Mattie, thank you! Thank you so much!" Inside there is half of a small potato, some buttered toast with a bite taken out of it, a handful of carrots and an entire (slightly burned) cookie.

He sits down on the floor and stars devouring it, shoving most of the potato into his mouth in one bite. Matt laughs and sits down beside him. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving," he admits.

"I'm sorry I got you into trouble."

"No hard feelings. You brought me food, right?"

"I wanted to get you more, but I thought it might look weird if I didn't eat anything... especially since Arthur didn't catch anything on fire this time."

"'S okay, usually Arthur gives me more to eat at breakfast after— you know. After I didn't get supper."

"Yeah, I know. That's good." Mattie tugs at the hem of his shirt and says, uncertainly, "Al?"

Alfred his too busy eating to bother with a real reply, but he manages a small, "Hm?"

"Thanks."

The other boy chokes a little as he swallows a carrot whole, and Matt reaches over to pat his back while he coughs up tiny orange flecks. "For what, _ignoring_ you all day?"

"No, not that. I'm still kind of mad at you for that. But… thanks for saying all those nice things about me. It's— I don't get to hear those kinds of things very often. So thanks."

Al coughs one more time and then scoots around until he's sitting next to his brother, the lamp flickering on the floor between them. He puts one arm over Mattie's shoulder and holds his cookie with the other, crushing it between his fingers until it breaks in half. He offers the bigger half to Matt, who delicately reaches over and takes the smaller one instead. "I saved that for you, eh?"

Alfred smiles and takes a tiny bite of his cookie, just in case Matt decides he wants some more. They sit in silence for a minute before Matt whispers, "Papa used to forget about me sometimes."

"What?"

"He would be so busy that he would forget to make supper, or…" he stops and stares at the lamp, biting at his lip like he does when he's trying not to cry. Alfred hugs him closer, and he knows he shouldn't make Matthew talk anymore but he can't help it, he's curious.

"Or what?"

"Sometimes he would call me the wrong name," Matt admits. Tears slide down his face quietly, and he wipes them away and smears cookie crumbs across his cheek instead. "When he'd get tired, I mean. He always apologized and tried to make it up to me and everything, but… but it scared me. I don't want my papa to forget about me." He chokes on a sob he's desperately been holding back and Alfred pulls him until he's practically sitting in his brother's lap. He could make fun of Matt but he's not going to, because it's okay to cry if you know why you're doing it.

"You're papa won't forget about you," he says as gently as he can. "I mean, Arthur gets like that sometimes, too. I think it's just because grown-ups get tired really easy. That doesn't mean he doesn't remember you."

"What if he does, though?"

His voice is muffled against Al's shoulder, and the older boy hopes that his prayer was heard by somebody and that he's a little nicer right now; he doesn't want to do any more damage than's already been done. He's careful when he opens his mouth and whispers, "I'll never forget about you, Mattie."

Red-rimmed violet eyes look up at him slowly. Alfred wonders how on earth he ever could have felt jealous of him, and he pushes that thought to the back of his mind because he knows, somehow, that he will be jealous again. "Promise?"

"Yeah. I promise." He kisses his brothers cheek and smiles when Mattie smiles, his arms locked around his waist. "I mean, might still pretend because… I dunno. I don't always think about what I do sometimes. But I promise that I will never really forget about you, and if you ever need me I'll always come. 'Kay?"

Matthew's smile widens a fraction and he hugs his brother tightly, his face buried against Alfred's shoulder as he whispers, "Okay."


End file.
